


White Wolves and Red Cloaks

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Blood and Violence, Branding, Curses, Fluff and Angst, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possession, Red Riding Hood Elements, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Geralt is cursed and the other witchers + Jaskier must help them break it and save him before it's too late.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 59
Kudos: 325





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a spur of the moment idea that I wanted to write and so here it is. I will be chipping away at it a s bouncing between this and Corvo Bianco. So updates may be slow.

“All I’m saying Eskel, is that Pretty Boy has been acting strange since he came home.” Lambert’s voice echoed down the empty hollow halls of Kaer Morhen. The cold nip of the wind slipped through the crumbling walls that Vesemir still had yet to patch up properly with mortar. It had been a long time coming and each winter it was the same. Another year cooped up like Frost Trolls in the Keep, working their numb fingers to the bone in futile attempts to fix the extensive damage the place had sustained during the sacking. It was a hopeless endeavor but no matter how many times Lambert tried to persuade the elder witcher to just give up on it all, it would end in an argument of epic proportions with Vesemir storming out in silence and refusing to return for weeks. It was the closest thing to furious the witchers had ever seen their mentor, a feat that Lambert was an expert in accomplishing. 

This time around, his concerns weren’t on good ol Papa Vesemir or even the castle for once. His attention had been fixed on Geralt who rode into Kaer Morhen like Odin was on his ass with a vengeance, growled out a few brief words in greeting to Vesemir before disappearing to one of the spare rooms upstairs. He promptly locked the door behind him and hasn’t really been seen by any of them except in silhouette lurking the Valley below late at night. They never saw him coming or going, and he hadn’t left his room to get food in two days.

“I tried asking him to come fishing with me and he didn’t even respond. No snobby quips or witty banter! Just  _ growled _ .” Lambert gestured wildly, his golden eyes narrowed with suspicious disbelief. “Either he told me to fuck off or he was in the middle of a one man wrestling match against a bear. It was kind of hard to tell through the door.”

Eskel simply laughed at that, his throaty sound echoed as they entered the main hall. It was filled to the brim with all sorts of Witcher goodies. A miniature library about monster lore, history and journals on flora and fauna. It was the scant remnants that could be salvaged after the attack and what little else they could find scattered in shops throughout the Continent that wasn’t already destroyed by religious zealots or paranoid Kings.

“Maybe your  _ winning  _ charm scared him off.” Eskel joked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the table nearest to the book shelves. Lambert’s distillery was set up across from it, cobbled together with copper pipes and filled with only the best for Witcher class spirits. His hip bumped against his research journal, nearly knocking it off the ledge. He reached down to move it and brushed over his notes on his most recent monster autopsy. He recently dissected a Wyvern in the area and examined what it had been feeding on the last few days and discovered the culprit behind one of his missing goats.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself.” Lambert ground out through his teeth in a huff, tossing a firm hand towards the other man. Eskel mused as the other witcher grew pricklier than an alghoul and that was quite a feat in and of itself. 

Eskel ran his fingers through his hair, drawing back the shaggy mess from his brow and gazed sternly at his counterpart. He and Lambert had their off days, they bickered and fought more often than not but in the end they were brothers under the same Medallion, birthed by Trials of blood and grass. All negativity aside, when it counted, the School of the Wolf looked out for one another, especially with so few left in existence. They couldn’t risk being reckless when it concerned another brother of the swords. 

“So, what do you propose we do?” Eskel asked, straightening up as he fixed his gaze upon his companion. Lambert was unbothered by the stern look, as all Witcher’s shared that same unnerving steeliness in their eyes. A look that proved they were old and had seen a lot of shit in this world.

“Well, I-”

“Excuse me!” Lambert was interrupted by the squeaky voice of a little rodent poking its nose where it didn’t belong. Both Eskel and Lambert whirled their attention towards the bard that had spent most of the afternoon tucked in a corner table with his lute, staring with horror at the macabre assortment of cages, traps and weaponry that was cluttering along the outer walls of the main hall. Despite the occasional strum of notes from the bard’s instrument, it was easy to forget he was here at all, and he reeked of Geralt’s scent. Something both witchers summed up to simply being because the pair had been traveling together for so long. They rubbed off on one another, intermingled with hints of Roach.

“What is it? Spit it out.” Lambert snapped, watching with a barely concealed smile of amusement when Jaskier flinched at the harsh and deadly tone. It was so foreign compared to Geralt’s low feral growl. Lambert could barely remember the bard being dumped unceremoniously off of Roach’s back into the courtyard when Geralt rushed into the Keep without a second thought. No longer having the White Wolf to entertain him and no crowds of bored people to annoy, Jaskier had settled into the quietest corner of the Keep, far away from everyone else and fiddled with his instrument and his journal. He even slept down here, far away from Geralt after the witcher had refused even him entry into the upstairs room.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation what with the menacing echo and all.” Jaskier gestured wildly at the surrounding room, closing in on the two witchers but still keeping the examination table which, he noted was stained in old blood, between himself and them. He had no foolish fantasies of remaining out of reach should either choose to do him harm in anyway shape or form. If they were on the same level as Geralt, that would go without saying. He adjusted his lute against his chest, thumbed over the leather strap anxiously as he spoke up. His soft blue eyes pleading, unafraid of the pair of monster slayers. “Please, is something wrong with Geralt? He won’t talk to me and I’m concerned about him.”

Eskel and Lambert shared a brief glance between each other before fixing those cold studious gazes upon Jaskier. The bard felt trapped under the scrutiny of unsavory beasts, shrinking back a couple paces, disguised as nervous shifting in the cold open space.

“We don’t know yet.” Lambert cut in, his voice sharp and definite. The furrowing of his brows only appeared to deepen the scarring across his face. The shadows ushered in by the waning daylight enhanced the menacing gaze. “What happened to you two before you came here?”

Jaskier gave a half hearted shrug, the strap of his lute sliding down his shoulder as he fiddled with one of the strings. He pinched his brows together in concentration, played a couple notes as he recalled the night. “I was entertaining at an Inn in Novigrad. Geralt had left earlier that evening to investigate a contract he picked up from the local Pellar.” Jaskier shuffled in place, giving a small shake of his head. “He came back to town in a hurry, took his coin and told me we were leaving. We barely had enough time to pack before he was pulling Roach from the stables.”

“That it?” Eskel asked. “Is there anything specific that you noticed out of the usual with Geralt?”

Jaskier shook his head but stopped when Lambert scoffed, mumbling something crude under his breath. Jaskier frowned and straightened up, his lips parted as if he were about to call the prickly witcher out for his rude behavior when something seemed to click in his mind. His finger wagged in the air excitedly “Actually yes! He hasn’t been very focused since we left. He seems distracted but not like he’s drifting off in thought. He jerks and jolts at every sound. Even got spooked by Roach one morning when we were camped on a lakeside. And his shoulder-”

“What about it?” Lambert interrupted impatiently. 

Jaskier tapped the shoulder above Geralt’s heart. “He had it patched up before he came back to the Inn and it’s been bothering him since.”

Lambert scoffed. “So we know he got injured. Big deal. Witchers get hurt all the time. If you haven’t noticed, it's a hazard of the job.”

“Not like that.” Jaskier corrected sharply. “It doesn’t appear to cause him pain. He keeps, I don’t know,  _ checking it. _ ” Jaskier rubbed at the place over his heart as if to prove a point. “I’ve seen him wounded before. This isn’t the same. He’s-” There was a heavy sigh. “He’s hiding something.”

“No duh. World class genius right here.” Lambert grumbled, shaking his head in dismissal as he turned away from Jaskier.

It was the bard’s turn to prickle, his hackles rose with a sudden sharp fury as he blurted at the witcher. A witless decision he was certain he would pay for in blood later, but it felt like a good thing to do. “Listen here you barbarous fool! Geralt is my closest and dearest friend in this entire miserable little world and I will not stand by a moment more and watch as he suffers through whatever misfortune he has brought on himself because he is too stubborn and bullheaded to ask for help!” Jaskier was near shouting by the time he finished, having not even realized how much his volume had climbed and further magnified by the acoustics of the Keep. In his fury, he had stalked closer to Lambert until they were nearly chest to chest now, hands curled into tight fists at his side as he reined in his anger.

Lambert merely gave a smug smirk at the balls on the bard, pressing closer until his bulk loomed over Jaskier. He was almost nose to nose with him, those striking golden eyes, so inhuman and cold reminded Jaskier of a beast and Jaskier was the unfortunate prey. “You’ve got guts bard, maybe I oughta show them to you some time.”

“ _ Lambert. _ ” Eskel growled lowly, startling Jaskier with a small jolt. The bead of sweat that curled down his neck was ignored as he tried his damnedest to stand his ground against the witcher.

It was then that a blood curdling howl sliced through the ominous halls like a mournful war cry. All three men stiffened, the room descended into absolute silence as they listened for more to follow. 

"What the fuck?" Lambert hisses through his teeth, already reaching for his silver sword. 

"How in the hell did a werewolf get in here?" Eskel blurted as both men raced towards the direction it bellowed from. Their acute senses pulling at their surroundings as they tracked the beast down. They made it through the kitchen and into the stairwell, catching sight of a large shadow moving against the wall further above. Eskel drew his sword as they crept up the winding stone staircase. 

"What the fuck is going on around here?" Lambert ground out between his teeth but his question was met with a slow shake of Eskel's head. There was no answer that could be rationalized in all this. They hadn't seen werewolves near Kaer Morhen before and the fact that one was here and inside the Keep of all places was both surprising and concerning.

"Maybe Vesemir was right about patching this place up. If a werewolf got in through one of the holes-" Eskel's voice drifted off when the shape further above emerged in a blur of white fur. The bulk of it lunged down the stairwell, claws raking across the stonework in long ear piercing scrapes. The two witchers prepared themselves for a fight but were greeted with the wolf launching itself over the stairwell, plummeting to the ground floor below. They cursed after its turning to give chase as it fled through the doors to the Keep.

Jaskier's voice filled the rooms with a shrill terror, urging their feet to move faster in pursuit. They burst into the open main room of the hall to find the wolf hunched over Jaskier, its large size caging him against the wall. Fur as white as the mountain snow and thick along the hackles of it's back. It's body was riddled in old scars, crisscrossing and familiar. It's long sharp claws scraped the stone wall, dragging slowly past Jaskier's head as it met him, nose to snout.

The bard gazed up at those inhuman golden eyes with the familiar jagged scarring. The snarl that rumbled out of the beast's chest wasn't one that was violent but instead, wary.  _ Fearful. _ Jaskier raised his hand to meet the wolf's maw, the jaws parted in a low rumble, the tongue slipped out, licking along the back of the bard's hand in greeting. It tilted its head into the calm caress of Jaskier's palm as the bard inspected the bold ugly lines branded intricately over the werewolf's heart.

"Geralt?" Jaskier spoke softly, his voice riddled with disbelief but the moment of peace was shattered when the rush of footsteps trailed up behind them. The werewolf turned to greet the other two witchers, snarled at the sight of their silver swords before tearing off out the front gates of the Keep. Neither witcher could keep up as the beast scaled rock walls like it were merely a minor inconvenience.

Jaskier's voice hollered after them as he followed up behind with protest. "Don't hurt him! That's Geralt!"

"The fuck-" Lambert snarled with disgust, whirling around on Jaskier as a strong fist curled up into the front of the bard's jacket. He had Jaskier crammed up against the entrance of the Keep, jagged brickwork digging painfully into his back as Lambert tightened his grip when Jaskier struggle. His fists pried at the Witcher's hands but to no avail so he huffed and clawed at the fabric that threatened to suffocate him. "-did you two do? What the hell happened to Geralt?"

"I-ack! I uh don't know." Jaskier choked as Lambert shook him again, his head bobbing back and smacking the brickwork dragging a painful hiss from his lips. Lambert's fury was barely sheathed when Eskel stormed up the steps to drag the prickly witcher off of him, forcing the two to separate. 

Jaskier dropped to his knees as he gasped and choked in air. One hand touching the back of his head lightly and inspected the small scrapes of blood that came away at his fingertips. He winced and looked up, eyes wide and terrified as Eskel subdued Lambert in a tight hold.

"Enough! Both of you. We need to figure out what happened to Geralt and that can't be done unless both of you knock it off." Eskel's words boomed violently in the quiet air, causing Jaskier to flinch away. He managed to shuffle back to his feet but kept tucked against the wall, ready to flee at a moment's notice should anything set Lambert off again.

The aforementioned witcher just sneered coldly, sheathing his sword as he stalked back into the Keep, only tossing a dangerous glare Jaskier's direction. The bard barely stifled the frightened squeak that left his throat as he pressed harder against the wall to stay out of arm's reach.

Jaskier's terror of the other Witcher only fueled the sudden jolt that followed when Eskel reached out for his shoulder. The bard yelped and jumped, smacking his head on the corner of the frame in the process which Eskel gave a quiet look of apology. "Sorry. We gotta investigate what's going on and the best place to start would be the guest bedroom where Geralt was staying."

Jaskier nodded, a slow solemn motion as he followed after Eskel who led the way. Upon further entry into the building, Jaskier noticed Lambert was nowhere to be seen, which only made his nerves fray further with fear that he was lurking around the many shadowy corners waiting to stick a blade in his ribs. Jaskier's fears were little when it came to the prickly witcher, far more focused on Geralt and rightfully so.


	2. Chapter 2

It was, to put it simply, an absolute mess. For a man obsessed with organization and neatness when it came to his belongings, the guest bedroom was in complete disarray. There was bedding scattered across the floor where the bed had been flipped out of the way, blocking the window entrance though it remained to be seen whether that was purposeful or accidental. There were beakers, books and scattered notes in mixed common and elven gibberish where Geralt had jotted down in frantic writing what his results were and all of his failures. Broken glass lie beside the messy desk, blood spotted the scattered shards, mostly dry already. The droplets were sprinkled across the stone floor in a peppering of movement as if the white wolf had paced impatiently for a time.

Eskel listed off each of his findings, pointing out the scrape marks near the doorway. "These weren't here before. Looks like he barricaded himself in for a while. Was probably afraid we'd barge in."

"Or that he would come out." Jaskier finished the words that trailed unspoken from Eskel's lips. The witcher sighed heavily, shaking his head in slow dismissal as he moved on to a few of the notes. Jaskier's hands were folded close, fingers picking nervously at the skin around his nails, an anxious thrum of energy that rippled through him as he paced in slow loops, inspecting this makeshift mad laboratory that Geralt had put together. 

"Where did he get all this stuff?" Jaskier asked finally, the thought had been settled heavy on his mind since they walked in. 

"Oh, well, we'd been using this room for additional storage for a while. Don't exactly have guests often and these-" Eskel gave a gentle tap of his boot to an enclosed crate sitting by the wall. It rattled bitterly at the jarring motion. "-are just spares for alchemy and potions. Good for large batches in short periods of time."

"I see." Jaskier sighed, pressing his hands over his face as he released a tired exhale. He scrubbed his palm against his cheek and paused, catching the faintest scent of fur and pine on his skin. A lingering and fleeting reminder of Geralt. He stifled the pained noise that curled tight in his chest, a strangle hold that gripped his heart worse than a Leshen's roots and threatened to crush it.

"It looks like he was trying to break his curse." Eskel interrupted, his broad shoulders shifting ever so slightly, his back still turned to the bard as he shuffled through the papers their friend left behind. "None of this makes sense. One minute he's talking about a curse, the next there's mentions of possession."

"What?" Jaskier blurted in confusion. He was no witcher, but by what he's learned over the months he's traveled with Geralt is that a curse and a possession are two vastly different things. He stepped closer to the desk to inspect the notes and recognized the marking of the brand roughly sketched out on one page. "That's the mark that was over Geralt's heart."

"I have no idea what that is. Whatever it is, it looks incredibly old." Eskel huffed a sigh of resignation and grumbled. "Nothing we can do about it until Vesemir gets back from the mountains."

"That could take days." Lambert's voice cut in sharply, interrupting the half hearted conversation that flitted between Eskel and Jaskier. They both turned to meet the prickly witcher's gaze, Jaskier was more alarmed in his response, stepping back quickly so Eskel was between the two of them.

"And?" Eskel pulled at the frayed edges that Lambert left exposed, trying to draw a thread of reason from the man. 

"Pretty Boy could be long gone by then. If he leaves the valley, then we can't help him." Lambert pointed out. "We can't break his curse but we can at least catch him and keep him where we can reach him."

"You want to bait the werewolf? How do you plan to do that exactly?" Eskel set the papers aside to fold his arms over his chest, looking pointedly at his companion.

"You'll see. I might need to borrow one of your goats though." Lambert's smile was full of twisted amusement as Eskel grumbled in mild disgust, waving a dismissive hand at him.

* * *

As it turns out, Geralt is an incredibly smart werewolf. Which really should come as no surprise given he was a Witcher first and foremost. Eskel and Lambert tried everything to bait him out. They tried live goats, fresh deer meat, blood, even monster carcasses. None of it worked to draw Geralt out and any attempts at tracking him were in vain. The wolf had taken to climbing the trees to travel above ground and avoid leaving prints. And he had been all over the mountain side, leaving confusing trails back and forth that were near impossible to discern one from the next. When they did manage to find a trail, it promptly entered the water and disappeared. They tried searching the river banks for further signs but between the foglets, drowners and bears in the area, it was near impossible to keep up. 

They were forced to regroup back at Kaer Morhen and think up another idea. Night fell quickly soon after and Jaskier was left sleepless and worried. The other two witchers had departed to their own beds but Jaskier was huddled up in what would have been Geralt's cot, breathing in the faintest traces of the White Wolf that still lingered in the bedding. The hints of fur and pine, the small notes of wood smoke from a campfire and soft damp earth. It was like breathing in the very mountain and its spirit with every small gasp, drawing in its life force to fuel Jaskier's waning hopes that they could ever find Geralt again and save him.

It was late when Jaskier was beginning to fall asleep, finally the little tendrils sneaking up through his mind had come to claim him. But they were snatched away by the mournful howl of the werewolf echoing like the saddest song ever sung through the Valley and its grieving walls. Jaskier buried his face into the pillow and let out a shaky breath, trying his best to keep himself together. All of this was so sudden and he was still reeling from the moment Geralt had pinned him to the wall with such strength and ferocity but there was gentleness as well and an unparalleled sign of recognition. The real Geralt was still in there, just trapped inside a body that wasn't his.

* * *

When morning came, it came without warning or care for its inhabitants. Jaskier was dragged quite literally, out of his bed by Lambert who loomed like a bitter troll over the bard while he ushered him to get dressed and follow him out into the woods. Jaskier's apprehension was swiftly diminished by the promises of trying to find Geralt once more. Jaskier felt the hopeful flutter of his heart thrum in his chest as he quickly donned his boots and jacket.

This promise was a bitter sweet lie that Jaskier found no amusement in. One moment they were riding up the mountain side along the path Geralt had lingered most recently and Lambert claimed to have seen him prowling late the previous evening. And the next, Jaskier was blinking through a muddled fog to find himself restrained to the same post they had tied the goat up to the day before. The deer carcass was absent today, with signs that it had been dragged away by some large beast which was assumed to be a very hungry Geralt. There were signs of paw prints from the werewolf circling the site with feral curiosity, along with deep gouging marks riddling the bark on nearby trees as he carved out his territory with his scent and his claws.

"Wh-what is all this? Where- uh Lambert! Eskel!" Jaskier cried out as his chest seized with panic. His soft blue eyes searched the tree line frantically for any sign of the aforementioned witchers hiding in the bushes, watching and waiting. He pulled against the restraints keeping his wrists fixed firmly to the post, fighting the roughly braided rope that refused to budge. He struggled until his skin was bruised and the heat of the day beat down on his back, trickling sweat from his hairline down his neck with growing discomfort. Jaskier swallowed dryly as minutes ticked by to what felt like hours, he rasped in the relentless sun that scorched the clearing without remorse and caused small fits of struggling throughout the day.

He was only graced with a minor reprieve when the sun shifted across the sky, sending long shadows from the trees surrounding to shield him from its harshness if only briefly. The clouds thickened in their coverage, looking like rain in the distance. The static charge in the air of a coming storm prickled his skin uneasily.

Jaskier's hopes faded with his voice as he mumbled lines from a song under his breath, a small comfort in his loneliness. Without Geralt to protect him, he was nothing more than monster bait to these men. Useless. Pathetic. Weak. _Human._ But then again, that was always his flaw, wasn't it? He was too cowardly and soft, nothing more than a burden to his beloved witcher and even now he wasn't even tempting enough as bait.

His head hung wistfully as he waited and listened. His voice faded to silence as he stared blankly at the treeline, his thoughts drifting as he closed his eyes. His shoulders ached as he adjusted his body weight against the post. His skin was rubbed raw from his struggles, a minor discomfort really when compared to the heat of the passing afternoon, inching closer to evening now. His stomach growled a painful hollow sound in protest as he assumed the time of day with its routine ache.

By this time, when traveling with Geralt, they were just setting up camp or settling down at a tavern for some warm food and good mead. Jaskier would play a few songs, sing to Geralt a bit, sing to the crowd if he could muster one with a few notes, and then bed down for the night. Most often with Geralt tucked firmly against his side with a strong muscular arm wrapped around him. It was Jaskier's sanctuary at the end of a long day, the place he looked forward to most when things went poorly and a foul mood befell their travels. No matter how displeased Geralt was, he would always welcome the bard to his embrace and hold him like a sacred treasure, guarded against a world of thieves and liars.

Jaskier shook his head slowly, ignoring the painful ball that formed in his throat and the shaky breath that shuddered through his chest. It was a short rasp of air as he tried to calm himself. His head snapped up, eyes blinking blurry into the forest when the sound of lumbering footsteps approached. His heart pitched high in his chest, thumping against his throat with a mixture of fear and excitement. _Was it Geralt? Did he finally come for him?_ _Was he saved?_

A million questions and thoughts flitted through his mind, a plethora of racing images that came to a screeching halt and was all batted down with one large clumsy paw as the mysterious assailant emerged. A very large and very terrifying grizzly bear entered the clearing, muzzle curled back in a monstrous snarl, nostrils flaring as it bared large yellow teeth with a furious roar. The beast pounded the earth with its paws in warning but Jaskier couldn't move. He couldn't flee even at the territorial display of the predator. He struggled against the ropes, a hopeless attempt to get away before it charged at him. 

He barely heard the uttered curses from the treeline as voices too soft to pick up muttered nearby. Jaskier could barely make out who they belonged to before the bear gave another loud bellow and pawed the earth angrily. It's rage at Jaskier's blatant refusal to heed its warning had reached a peak and the bard was going to pay for that mistake. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, pleading quickly to whatever God or Goddess was out there listening, begging the universe to not let this be his end. Mauled at the end of a Grizzly bear's claws while two witchers watch like some perverse and macabre theater show. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as the beast charged at him. Jaskier prepared himself for pain, for blood and claws and teeth ripping into his flesh. To feel bones being smash, snapped and crushed throughout his body. 

He waited, he anticipated but all he received was the wicked and terrifying roars of the bear and the wet sound of flesh being ripped apart. The smell of blood blossomed like lilies in a garden of death, filling Jaskier's nostrils. He dared to look, felt the hot spray of something wet across his skin just as he opened his eyes and saw the massive White Wolf with its claws dug into the bear's back, ripping and tearing through thick fatty hide and biting chunks of fur and meat out of its neck.

The wolf was thrown off by the beast moments before it rolled across the earth to defend it's back. Geralt recovered quickly and pounced back on it, claws and teeth intermingling, painting the landscape red in their blood as Geralt grappled and dragged the bear around, hoisting its bulk with inhuman power and forcing its charge back into a nearby tree. The trunk groaned in protest against the force as the two batted and swatted back and forth, dancing dangerously around the clearing until the bear stumbled back with one final roar. Geralt returned it with a vicious snarl of his own, standing between Jaskier and the bear with unwavering determination.

The bear reconsidered its choices, its large head swiveled between its prey and the werewolf that challenged it before limping away from the clearing in defeat. Geralt held his ground for several minutes, panting heavily in the evening sun as it scanned the tree line for more trouble. With a derisive snort from the wolf, he turned back to Jaskier and approached slowly. The bard blinked in confusion, taking in the long thick white fur now stained with mud and blood, matted and filthy from the fight and whatever other hell he endured these last few days. His limbs and side were bleeding heavily, upon closer inspection, where bites punctured and tore at his skin.

Jaskier's fingers twitched, now nearly numb from the restraints but eager to help the wolf all the same. Geralt whimpered at the pain, one paw slick from cradling one of his worse wounds but that didn't stop his approach as he stalked behind the post the bard was attached to and proceeded to tear through the ropes keeping him bound. Jaskier gasped, feeling the weight release from his limbs and suddenly he could no longer stay on his own two feet. He buckled to his knees and slowly pulled his arms around himself, wincing at the swollen movement in his shoulders. He craned his head up towards the wolf and was met with concerned golden eyes, clouded over from their usual brightness by fatigue.

Geralt gave a small almost imperceptible nod before he began to turn away. It was an aborted move when the werewolf instead crashed to the ground in an exhausted heap. His body sprawled across the blood stained earth with a sickly wheeze filtered through his chest. Jaskier lunged forward, gently placing his hands on Geralt's shoulder to try and get the wolf's attention but it was fleeting. His eyes were already shut and he had melted against the earth in a boneless heap.

The bushes rustled nearby as the two witchers emerged from their hiding spot. Their swords were drawn in anticipation for further trouble but none came. Jaskier's anger was split by his relentless concern for his beloved witcher.


	3. Chapter 3

"You were going to feed me to the bear!" Jaskier nearly yelled, his volume rising with a mix of injured anger and panic, brittle and cracking from a long day of abuse. He had already cleaned up from his ordeal in the woods, in a fresh pair of clothes and smelling of mint soap. His raw and wounded wrists were bandaged carefully by Eskel's skilled hands but right now his fury was towards Lambert, once again. It raged against the Witcher like a wind storm battering a mountain side, doing very little to make it tremble but the attempt was there nonetheless. 

Eskel sat on the edge of a nearby table, arms crossed as warm amber eyes watched with quiet amusement at the fiery bard. It was a wonder how Geralt could manage with such a man at his side, especially since he wasn't at all the talkative type. The Lone White Wolf, a deadly hunter and an outcast. Yet here he was with an emotional support puppy yapping around his heels all the time. His attitude untempered by a firm hand, but then again, maybe it would be different. Maybe Jaskier wasn't so damn high strung when he had Geralt looming at his side like a walking shield against the world. 

"Relax bard." Lambert dismissed Jaskier with a wave of his hand as if he were shooting away a problematic gnat and not a human being. But then again, in this world, they were one in the same in the eyes of a Witcher. "You were fine. We weren't going to let that bear eat you."

"Oh really? And how did you plan that? I'm sorry, but was I made unaware that foresight was a hidden talent among you lot?" Jaskier hissed with growing disgust towards the witcher, which didn't seem like a brilliant idea at the moment when the man was oiling his steel sword. Jaskier bristled and took it only as a ruse, Lambert showed off in threat about as much as Jaskier did in peacocking. It was second nature for them both, with varying degrees of desired outcomes.

Lambert had a quip balanced on his tongue, sharp as the blade he wielded but Eskel sheathed it for him when he interjected to ease the heat from the fight. No doubt Lambert was roaring for a tussle just for the sake of getting his fists bloody.

"Geralt had been nearby the entire time." Eskel stated matter-of-factly, an ease of calm leveled in his voice. Jaskier turned to face him, letting the simmering anger fizzle with the explanation to follow. "He marked the entire area as his. He disposed of the carcass to avoid luring in predators. He did everything a wolf does to protect what's _his_ and he was fully aware that you were being used as bait."

"How do you know that?" Jaskier prodded with a brittle rasp. He picked up the tankard he had been nursing all evening filled to the rim with water. A cool balm that cleansed the scratchy pain of his throat. 

Lambert answered this time, with a little less malice. He sheathed the blade he had been oiling and stood from his seat. "We could hear him. Really shouldn't have been much of a surprise though. He wasn't taking the bait because he knew exactly what we were planning. What _he_ would have done. That bear stumbling into the clearing wasn't planned but it forced him to choose between saving himself or saving you." 

Lambert clicked his tongue with a shake of his head. "Pretty Boy sure has gotten soft. I'd have let the bear eat you if I were in his place."

Jaskier swallowed thickly, his expression sinking with the realization. A conflicting feeling of happiness being strangled out by the ever present regret. Geralt still cared about him, even cursed as he was but Jaskier had put him in danger. He tore his gaze away from the two witchers and let it wander towards the cage which the White Wolf was currently locked inside of. His wounds had been treated with salves and patched up with clean bandages. Another tender touch by the skillful hands of Eskel. A collar had been locked around his neck with a chain anchoring him to the inside of the cage. He could move around inside it but at the moment, Geralt was sound asleep. He looked exhausted and it took quite a bit of time to scrub his fur clean of all the debris and blood that clung to it. Jaskier had been adamant to assist, persuading Eskel with the idea that it would be faster with two hands.

Jaskier took a slow shaky step away from the pair of witchers, his gaze settled upon the cage with a forlorn expression. Geralt looked so helpless behind the bars, fragile even. The stark white of the bandages only adding to the wash out that was his pale skin and long thick fur. He knew from past experience that werewolves heal quickly and the wounds wouldn't last long, but that didn't ease the sour roll of his stomach and its tight twisting sensation. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Lambert noticed the green shade the bard had slipped into and reached out to steady Jaskier with one hand gripping his shoulder firmly. It was possibly the kindest gesture the prickly witcher had shown him since they arrived at Kaer Morhen. Jaskier swayed on his feet but Lambert kept him upright with that secure grasp. "Hey, it'd probably be best if you take a break for a bit." His voice had softened a touch, just enough to be considered cordial by witcher standards. Jaskier's head hung mournfully but he nodded nonetheless. 

"Vesemir should be back soon. We can discuss our options then." Eskel added. Jaskier gave another weak nod and drew away from them both. He found Geralt's old cot, the same he had been curled up on the last few nights and sank down onto it. 

It was hard to find privacy in this place, with the open layout of the Keep and all, but the other two witchers took the hint and wandered off to their own areas around the room. They blatantly ignored Jaskier when he buried his face in his hands and cried as quietly as he could manage.

* * *

Morning came with a surprise. For one, Vesemir returned from his trip up into the mountains. His grizzled old features were worn and weary as he trudged through the front gates of the castle with his horse in tow. He barely mustered the energy to remove its saddle and make the long trek up the crumbling steps and ramps towards the front entrance to the Keep. Eskel was already out in the courtyard feeding his flock of goats as he hauled a large sack of grain around on one shoulder. An empty water pale laid tipped over at his feet where Lil Bleater attempted to stick her whole head in there after her owner brought a fresh drink from the well. He greeted his mentor's approach with a quiet nod and started to finish up his task more quickly.

Lambert's grumbling could be heard on the other side of the courtyard where he fiddled around with the components for a new diagram for bombs. His attention split when he heard Eskel holler his name and very nearly caused him to blow up the whole shack. He cursed loudly as he hung out of the shed and spotted Vesemir heading for the Keep. He dusted his hands off quickly and darted after their mentor.

Eskel was soon to follow his trail when they finally caught up with him. Vesemir stopped in his tracks and turned just before reaching the main set of doors. "What are you two up to?"

Lambert and Eskel exchanged quick glances before silence followed. The studious and stern look their mentor leveled on them was kin to the one he used to direct their way back when they were mischievous youths trying to shirk their chores and skimp on training drills. His arms folded over his chest expectantly. "Where's Geralt? I saw Roach was in the stable but he hasn't been by to check on her recently."

The perks of an enhanced sense of smell, albeit concerning at times. Lambert scratched at the back of his neck as he tossed a half hearted hand towards the Keep. "You….might want to take a look for yourself. It's hard to explain."

The mirth and amusement bled out of Vesemir's grandfatherly expression as he turned quickly and dragged the front doors wide open. The stench of wet dog was the first thing to hit his nostrils, a musky forest smell, pine and mint tangled together with the heady earthen tones. The trio proceeded into the main hall as Vesemir's gaze searched for signs of their fellow witcher.

Instead they fell upon the sight of a young man curled up with a ratty old blanket tucked around him, fragile and helpless as a child tucked against the side of a metal cage. With it was a massive white werewolf, sound asleep as well with its large furry side pressed as close to the human as the bars would allow with one large paw pressed through a hole in the bars and wrapped around the smaller human hand. The werewolf's muzzle was pressed close to the bars, breathing warmth with every exhale, causing the bard's hair to stir slightly.

"What in the-" Vesemir's voice cracked like thunder, rolling disbelief at the sight he was seeing. It echoed in the Keep, drawing both the bard and the werewolf from their pleasant sleep. 

Jaskier was slow to make sense of the world, his fingers squeezing the warm soft hand curled around his. He noticed the cooler touch of sharp claws and stilled, but as his thoughts came to life and his memories filled in the drowsy blanks, he remembered Geralt had been whimpering in his sleep. Plagued by fitful nightmares that clawed at his mind. Jaskier had dragged himself over to the cage and curled up within arm's reach. Geralt had woke just long enough to acknowledge his presence, reaching through the bars with the same gentleness he showed when pulling Jaskier into bed with him in all the inns they stayed at, tucking him close to his chest for safe keeping. Though this time the cold nip of the bars kept them separated. He welcomed the warm press of fur through them and felt no fear when Geralt's muzzle slipped through to lick at his neck. After all, this was _his Witcher. His white wolf._

Geralt on the other hand, met the disturbance with an annoyed growl. It rumbled out in warning as he cocked his large head to the side. Golden inhuman eyes settled on the trio as if they'd just interrupted something sacred and precious to the wolf. His ears folded back as he bared his teeth before letting out a disgusted sneeze. His massive tongue licked along his maw before settling back with indifference.

"Geralt somehow got cursed and is now a werewolf." Lambert explained quickly, his words drifting over Vesemir's shoulder as the elder witcher came to terms with the reality of the situation.

"Damn it." Vesemir grumbled, eyeing the overly familiar way the wolf was wrapped up to the bard. Jaskier gave a bashful look, huddling closer to the cage as he wrapped the blanket around himself as if he wasn't fully clothed still. His hand never left Geralt's paw as the wolf reaffirmed his hold and wrapped it snug around the bard's waist. A pointed look aimed towards the witchers as if daring them to challenge his claim on his fragile human companion.


End file.
